“I know he’s expecting you.” Her tone was cold and measured. “But he wasn’t expecting four of you boys, just the twins.”
“Well, we’re all here, and we’re all telling the same story. So let’s go.”
She studied me, her shrewd eyes moving over my face like she could read my secrets.
At last she nodded once. “Fine. Follow me, Winston.”
Christine turned and the impenetrable barrier of bikers split down the middle, creating a straight path through the crowd. I looked beyond Christine, saw we were headed toward a hallway at the back of the bar.
I heard Cletus from someplace behind me say, “Gentleman, ladies.”
The walls were black. The doors were black. Everyone was dressed in black. Moving through the crowd was like swimming in a midnight sea surrounded by sharks. I could feel their eyes on me, their stares menacing and hostile.
Once we entered the hall I glanced behind me. Though the wall of bikers loitered at the edge of the hallway, eight were following us. Christine stopped abruptly, turned, and lifted her chin toward me.
“Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.”
Clenching my jaw, I did as instructed, realizing we’d made it pretty far into the club without being frisked.
My three brothers also complied, but then after a half minute I heard Cletus say, “That’s silly string.”
I glanced over my shoulder, watching the interaction between Cletus and one of the bikers patting us down.
“What’s it do?” the biker asked.
“It’s silly,” Cletus responded. “And it makes a mess.”
The club member glanced at Christine and she shrugged, addressing her question to Cletus, “You planning on making silly messes?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do you have it?”
“Just in case you have cameras in the room where we’re being taken.”
She frowned at Cletus, her eyes narrowing. “You planning on covering the lenses with silly string?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, you ain’t.” She lifted her chin and the silly string was confiscated.
Once the pat down was complete, Christine led us further into the winding corridor. We descended a flight of stairs, passing more black walls and more black doors. Nothing was labeled and all the hallways looked the same. I had no idea how we were going to get out of here without a guide.
With every step, my fear mounted, a sensation I wasn’t accustomed to. Panic threatened to either choke me or send me into a blind rage. All I could think about was Jess, somewhere in this hellish labyrinth. But I stopped myself from imagining the worst, because if I did then I would most certainly yield to blind rage.
Finally, we stopped in front of a door. I strained my ears, heard voices on the other side, and a shot of adrenaline traveled through my system like a lightning bolt when I recognized one of the voices as Jessica’s. I had to clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists to keep from charging forward.
“After you, handsome,” Christine said, opening the door wide and giving me a sinister smile.
I didn’t need to be asked twice.
I walked into the room and scanned it, my eyes immediately latching on to Jessica. She was sitting on a black leather couch, and next to her was Claire. They both looked pissed, but unharmed. My chest eased, some of the panic I’d been fighting dissipated. The girls weren’t looking at us. They were looking at the man on the adjacent couch, a man I recognized as Razor Dennings, president of the Iron Wraiths.
“So you boys made it,” he said without turning his head; Razor’s eyes were on his daughter but he lifted his chin toward Jess. “I knew you’d come if I invited your girl here for a visit.”
Jess’s attention finally moved to where I stood, her eyes telling me most of what I needed to know. She wasn’t surprised to see me. And she was scared, and feeling stupid for some reason, trying to apologize without saying the words.
“I don’t see why all this was necessary,” Repo drawled. I glanced to my right, found him sitting on a stool in front of a black lacquer bar. He had a whiskey or a bourbon in front of him, but it looked untouched.
I forced myself to see beyond my Jess tunnel vision and took a quick survey of the room. Besides the eight-biker escort behind us, Razor, and Repo, there were two other Wraiths members in the room, both as big as mountains. I recognized one as Catfish. I knew him because he liked to fish and sometimes went out with Hank Weller and Beau. He was difficult to overlook.
“This is all necessary, Repo, because you take too fucking long to get shit done,” Christine spat as she strolled past me and crossed to her old man, giving him a sloppy kiss and whispering something in his ear.
“I have the situation under control,” Repo responded through gritted teeth, glaring at the back of Christine’s head.
“Enough. This shit needs to be settled.” Razor pushed his old lady aside and she fell into the couch. He stood, stepped over her legs like she was a nuisance, and scanned us.
Razor was tall, but he wasn’t big. He’d never been thick or burly. He was lanky and reeked of evil. Looking into his blue eyes, I’d always felt like I was looking at death. Repo had told me once, when I was just a kid and he was over for dinner, that Razor got the name from his preferred method for punishing insubordination.
His dead eyes settled on me, his face without expression, and lifted his black beard. “You. What’s your answer? Yes or no?”
“No.” I didn’t hesitate. This fucker was scary as hell, but bullshitting or delaying was only going to piss him off.
“No?” He didn’t sound surprised, more like he wanted to confirm my final answer.
“No.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Repo’s face fall into the palm of his hand and he shook his head.
Razor nodded once, again with no expression. “Then your brother is going to federal prison. But first, my boys are going to fuck you all up.”
“No,” I said again. “None of that’s going to happen either.”
“You’re going to give me a compelling reason, son?” The first note of inflection entered his voice; he sounded interested, like he hoped I would surprise him.
“Yes.”
“And what is that compelling reason?”
“When Jethro installed the traps he alerted the law, sent pictures of the cars, VIN numbers, and a letter stating he suspected the traps were being used for the transport of drugs.”
Razor’s eyes narrowed, just a tad, and something like a small smile made his lips curve. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“If that’s so, then why hasn’t the law interfered with our operations?”
I paused, thinking about Cletus’s confiscated silly string. He obviously thought we were being recorded or videotaped. I didn’t want to say anything incriminating.
“No answer?” Razor’s smile grew.
To my relief and surprise, Cletus stepped forward and answered for me. “The law hasn’t interfered with your operations because they’ve been informed, but they don’t know it. The certified envelope is in a safe place at an offsite facility and we have copies, including a receipt—dated three years ago—of the certified letter, signed for by the law. All we need to do is place a phone call. Or, you could murder us.”
“Say what?” Repo asked. He’d abandoned his stool and crossed to stand next to his boss.
“Murder us,” Cletus responded slow and loud, like they were hard of hearing. “If you murder us then the police will also be notified about the location of the certified package. As well as other information pertaining to your…activities.”
“Other information?” Repo sounded skeptical.
Cletus nodded. “Yes. That’s right. I make a hobby of covert surveillance. And I imagine no one in this room wants the police to know what happened on the night of January seventh, two years ago.”
Razor’s earlier humorless smile melted away. His eyes no lo
nger looked dead, they looked murderous.
“Are you threatening me, boy?”
“Not precisely,” Cletus started, and I knew it was time for me to cut in, before Cletus explained the semantic differences between a fact, a promise, and a threat.
“We’re not here to threaten you. We’re here to decline your offer. If you push the issue then we’ll have no choice but to call the law.” I spoke plainly because it was clear the club president didn’t respond well to anything but plain speaking. “Now, we’d rather not do that, for obvious reasons. If you leave us alone, and Miss James and Mrs. McClure alone, then we’ll have no reason to go sharing.”
Razor’s eyes flashed as he returned his attention to me, and I clenched my jaw, bracing for whatever came next. This guy was crazy enough to hold Jess, the Sheriff’s daughter, against her will. He was likely crazy enough to do much more than that.
“You don’t think you can just walk out of here, do you, boy? I can’t let y’all leave without one of you receiving a souvenir.”
I swallowed a fair amount of dread, but also relief. We would be walking out of here, not limping, not carried out on stretchers. Walking.
If the rumors were to be believed, Razor’s boon of choice was a cut, or several cuts, usually on the lower back and in a cross hatch pattern. Sometimes he wrote his name. I could do that if it meant all of us, especially Jess and Claire, were going to walk out on our own two legs.
I felt rather than saw Cletus stiffen next to me, knew he was about to object, but I lifted my hand to stay his outraged speech and addressed the club president. “Fine. I see you need to save face. That’s fair.”
Jessica’s strangled squeak met my ears and I ignored it, fought the urge to look at her.
“That’s not fair,” Cletus objected through clenched teeth.
“I’ll do it.” I stepped forward.
“Duane…” Beau’s protest was choked, and I heard him say, “No, I’ll do it.”
A hand closed over my shoulder and I turned my head to find Jethro behind me, his eyes unusually serious. “It should be me.”
The president pulled a straight razor from one of his pants pockets, flipping it open at the hinge. He was smiling again. “Should I give y’all a few minutes to decide who gets the honor?”
“No,” Claire shouted, standing and bringing Jessica with her. “No one will have the honor. There won’t be any of that shit today.”
“Dearest daughter, I didn’t mean you would be leaving. Remember what I said? You ever come back here, you ain’t leaving again. This is where you belong.”
She shook her head slowly and lifted her hand, and that’s when I saw the 9-millimeter handgun in her grip. My eyes darted to Jess, and despite looking scared, she didn’t look surprised. She looked determined. In fact, at that very moment she lifted her arm as well, and in her hand was another 9-millimeter.
“You didn’t frisk her?” Razor thundered at Catfish and the other mountain sized biker. “What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s my daughter. Of course she’s got a weapon.”
Truly, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
“We’re leaving, those Winston boys are coming with, and no one is getting carved today.” Claire’s voice was unnervingly calm.
“You try my patience, baby girl.” Razor took a step toward his daughter and she responded by flicking off the safety, murder in her eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“You dare raise a gun to your daddy?” Christine stood as well; her eyes and voice were full of loathing.
“Like I said, we’re leaving. And there will be no retribution either.” Claire ignored her momma. She and Jess moved in unison to where we were standing. Jess’s gun was trained on our eight biker escorts and Claire was covering Razor, Repo, Catfish, and the other mountain-sized Wraiths member.
“Boss?” Catfish questioned, his eyes darting between us and Razor.
The club president squinted at his daughter for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At last he shook his head. “Let them go.”
“All the way?”
“Yeah. All the way.” Razor nodded once, his eyes still on Claire as he addressed her. “I’m only doing this ’cause you’re my blood, girl. I still got a soft spot for you. But don’t you forget, you don’t come back unless you plan to take your place.”
Claire shook her head, her lip curling with disgust. “I won’t be back. But don’t you forget, Cletus ain’t the only one who knows where the bodies are buried.”
Chapter 28
“A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.”
Lao Tzu
~Duane~
Claire saved us.
She guided us out of the compound via a much faster route than the maze we’d taken. It exited through a pair of above-ground cellar-like doors, opening to the outside at the edge of the parking lot. The temperature had dropped in the last half hour and we were dusted with big, fat snowflakes.
Once we were all outside, Jessica handed her gun over to Jethro, her eyes cutting to mine for the briefest of moments, and then the two of them were off running to Claire’s truck, which was parked nearby.
“Wait!” I started to follow, but Cletus stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“No time for that right now. Claire knows what she’s doing. We need to leave.”
I pulled out of his grip. “No. No fucking way. I need to see—”
“Duane, let her go. We ain’t got time for this and she ain’t got time for this. Claire will keep her safe.”
I wasn’t so sure. Not because I didn’t trust Claire or have faith in her level of badass, but I had a choking need to be the one to save Jess. I needed to see her to safety, witness it with my own eyes, hold her and know with certainty she was okay. But Claire and Jess were already in the Nissan Frontier and Claire was already maneuvering it out of the lot.
Cursing, I nodded. Cletus was right and I hated it.
We sprinted to the GTO, Jethro covering us with the gun Jess had passed him. I heard rather than saw Claire’s truck peel out and the engine rev as she sped away.
The outside of the bar was vacant, no soul in sight. The four of us quickly piled into Beau’s car and I sped off like a demon, hoping to never lay eyes on the godforsaken Iron Wraiths headquarters again.
Twenty minutes later no one had said a word and we’d had no sighting of Claire’s truck. I was still glancing in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see motorcycles tailing us. But I didn’t. I saw only tourists’ rental cars, trucks, and campers. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jess.
We were just about fifteen minutes from home, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know she was safe.
So I broke the silence. “Jethro, I need you to call Claire, find out where they are.”
“I texted Claire five minutes ago. They’re good. Jackson is meeting them at the James’s house. He’d read them both the riot act over the phone, she said. Claire is staying with Jess for the night in their guestroom.”
I blew out a breath, nodding, a new wave of relief passing through me. For the first time in my life I was thankful Jackson James existed. “Good. That’s good.”
Jethro turned in his seat and addressed his question to Cletus. “What I want to know is, what happened two years ago the night of January seventh, Cletus.”
“That’s the night Tommy Bronson went missing, aka Lube.”
“Lube?” Beau asked.
I saw Cletus nod in my rearview mirror. “Yeah. His biker name was Lube…an unfortunate nickname. But he got it because he was so slippery.”
“You have proof? The Wraiths killed him?”
“No. I have no proof. I was bluffing. But everyone knows Razor did it.” He waved his hand in the air like this was a fact and this fact was common knowledge.
“Well, what I want to know is,” Beau met my eyes in the mirror briefly before turning to Cletus, “why did you tell Razor all that stuff when you were so sure we were being
recorded? About how the police have been informed about the traps, but don’t know? Can’t he just use that to blackmail us again?”
Cletus took off his thick and unnecessary glasses, handed them to Beau. “You see this? This is an FPV video scrambler. It renders recording equipment useless. They might have been recording us, but all they’ll get is static.”
Jethro huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Then what the hell was the silly string for?”
“Like I said, it’s silly. And it makes a mess. I like to be prepared for all eventualities.”
I didn’t know what to say. Apparently, neither did anyone else because everyone was silent. Naturally, my thoughts turned back to Jess.
I needed to speak to her. Instinct told me to go to her, wrap her in my arms, and take her away from all this craziness. Take her back to our cabin and keep her there until things between us were sorted. I wanted her to look at me with certainty again. Not anger. Never hurt.
But first I needed a plan.
“You want us to drop you off at Jess’s?”
I glanced at my oldest brother, then shook my head.
“Why the hell not?”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and gave Jethro my stony profile, and said nothing.
“I agree with Jethro,” Cletus chimed in, then added, “For the record.”
“Me too,” Beau agreed.
Jethro continued to push when I remained silent. “That woman loves you. I saw the way she looked at you when we walked in, saw the fear in her eyes when you volunteered to get cut.”
I shook my head, rejecting his words. “I have no plan. I’ve got nothing. I need to figure things out first, figure out—”
Jethro cut me off. “See, this is your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re always planning, but getting nothing done, waiting for a sure thing. You love that woman, you go get her, Duane. You don’t wait ’til the time is right.”
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